Colonel For Sale
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: A charity event goes horribly wrong for Sam...
1. Chapter 1

If you take this seriously, you should have your head examined. It would _never_ happen on either Stargate series, but oh man is it a funny thought. In fact, I think I might reuse the same concept for a different purpose later. Be gentle with me, as this is my first try at something in the SG1 'verse (I'm an Atlantis girl, ordinarily...I just have this thing for writing McKay).

Oh who am I kidding. Beat me up later if you don't like it, I don't mind...but I **had** to do it. The evil little plot bunnies under my desk refused to stop nibbling at my ankles until I did. For all of you out there that read this and don't get the fact that it's just a ridiculous bit of stupidity (I've heard horrible things about the SG1 fandom and how bloody _serious_ everyone is about everything) done in pure fun, I apologize and hopefully I can beg my way off the executioner's block.

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He owed her for this. He owed her _big_.

Samantha Carter, Colonel in the United States Air Force, scientist, genius and all around good person, had never been classified by anyone as a girly girl.

Not that she wasn't considered attractive by the male of the species (or the female, for that matter...there was that one time she wandered into that bar by mistake) but she was never one to dress up and flaunt herself in hopes of gaining the attentions of a man. It just went against her grain to slap a thick mask of make-up on her face and play dress-up. She was always infinitely more comfortable in her fatigues than in something pink and frilly (which honestly, who could blame her for _that_?) and never thought much about parading around, competing with other women in the looks department.

Her current situation, however, called for just such behavior.

When General O'Neill had approached her about helping out with a fundraiser for a children's cancer research charity that the President was involved with, she had gladly volunteered. Really, how could she have turned him down without looking like a jerk? Besides, the SGC wasn't very busy lately and it would only be a couple of days worth of paperwork or something, right?

_Wrong._

Leave it to Jack O'Neill to think up a fundraising tactic like a bachelorette auction.

Bastard.

Granted, it wasn't anything untoward; everything was on the up and up, and it was just going out to dinner with whoever ended up 'buying' her, but still...it was degrading.

Carter glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking in the cut of the navy blue dress and wishing she could complain about it not being modest enough or something just so she would have an excuse _not_ to go out in front of the three hundred people gathered in the main ballroom. However, it was a tasteful piece of work, which, had she been the sort to wear ball gowns on a regular basis, she might have picked it out herself.

A knock at the door startled her to the point that she almost jumped.

_Almost_.

When she opened it, she found Jack standing there, a smile that was a borderline smirk on his face, "Ready, Carter?"

"Ready, sir."

Her brain sang as she took his offered arm, _Bastard, bastard, bastard._

But damn didn't he look good in a tuxedo.

Of course, _everyone_ looked good in a tuxedo. She was relatively certain that she could have seen Quasimodo himself in a top hat and tails and would have found something about him to be charming.

She kept repeating the words 'For A Good Cause' over and over again in her head until they lost all meaning completely while he lead her behind the curtain to the 'stage' where she would be auctioned off.

They both stood there for several minutes, waiting for her turn to come up.

When her name was announced, she was brought out from behind the curtain and her breath was taken away by the sheer volume of people in the ballroom.

There must have been at least three hundred guests, all of them waiting to bid on the bachelorettes.

"You owe me for this, sir," she said through gritted teeth that made up a plastered on grin, wishing for all the world that she hadn't agreed to this idiocy.

"I'll make it up to you," he said from the corner of his mouth as he lead her up the stage to the auction block, which was a small riser in the center of the stage and left her there.

Carter searched the audience for a friendly face and found Daniel Jackson in the front row, smiling at her. He waved a small roll of bills through the air, indicating that he had every intention of bidding on her so that she could avoid having to go out with anyone distasteful.

They had discussed that eventuality before the auction, and she was incredibly grateful to have someone like Daniel on her side in this instance.

"Do I hear fifty?" The auctioneer said lightly, "Fifty dollars?"

A man in the front row raised his hand and thusly, the bidding began.

First fifty, then a hundred, followed by two hundred...three, four and five fifty.

When a General with a reputation for bawdy behavior bid on her, she was immensely relieved when Daniel beat his bid.

It was starting to look like she'd only have to endure dinner with one of her closest friends when suddenly, a man in the audience called out, his voice louder than any of the others that had been bidding on her.

"I'll pay twelve thousand dollars!"

Carter's eyes got positively _huge_ at the sight of the man who stood up, waving a humungous wad of cash through the air and the only coherent thought that she could come up with was that maybe not _every_ guy looked good in a tux.

In fact, some of them looked pale and pasty and not at all attractive or dapper.

"I hear twelve thousand, do I hear twelve thousand and fifty?"

Carter said a silent prayer, begging the powers that be that someone..._anyone_ would outbid him.

"Twelve thousand going once-"

Carter looked at Daniel in panic and he could only give her a slightly apologetic shake of the head. He didn't have nearly that much cash on hand.

"Twelve thousand going twice-"

She turned her attention to the General who had gotten her into this mess and glowered at him.

"Twelve thousand going three times-"

O'Neill shrugged as the Auctioneer called out her fate.

"SOLD for twelve thousand dollars to Doctor Rodney McKay!"

There was a triumphant cry from the audience as Carter turned on O'Neill and glared at him so fiercely he should have been set alight.

Oh did he ever owe her for this.

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A/N: La la la la la...I've been up for like...sixty hours and this just popped into my head. I had to write it down, no matter how stupid it was, and hopefully, someone enjoyed it. If not...well, I can't blame you.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to pass out now.


	2. Chapter 2

I hereby dub thee "The One Shot That Would Not Die".

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It was only going to be dinner. A nice, quiet dinner. A little soup, a little salad, maybe a breadstick or two with the main course…some chit chat…just dinner. No big deal.

Dinner couldn't possibly be all that bad, could it?

**Could it?**

She'd been asking herself that same question all week, coming up with the exact same answer each time. Now it was Friday and the moment of truth was rapidly approaching. The moment that would either prove or disprove all of her theories in regard to this date.

Sam stared at her reflection in the mirror on her medicine cabinet. The woman standing opposite her looked way more pale and uncomfortable than Samantha Carter thought she should.

After being auctioned off to McKay, Sam had been angry. Beyond angry, in fact. She was spun into a whole new _dimension_ of angry that she was unaware was in existence.

After a day, anger had given way to rage, the rage had given way to thought of unlikely revenge scenarios and the unlikely revenge scenarios, as she was now discovering, were quickly turning into irritation mixed with apprehension and quiet, creeping dread that burrowed it's way under her skin and made her feel cold all over.

Of all the people in the world to get saddled with for a date! Rodney McKay! What kind of sick, twisted cosmic joke was this? She couldn't recall any recent crimes for which she deserved to be punished in this way.

This was going to be a complete disaster. She could feel it all the way down to her bones. A complete, total and utter disaster. This would rival her junior prom in it's level of mortification and embarrassment value, she was sure of it.

It was _McKay_, after all.

Rodney McKay, a man who had done nothing but serve as bane of her existence since he first snarked his way into her life all those years ago.

Rodney McKay, the only man who'd ever called her a dumb blonde and not only lived to tell the tale, but escaped serious physical injury as well.

Rodney McKay, who was, no doubt, right this moment, on his way to pick her up, wearing that smug, smarmy smile of triumph identical to the one he's worn when he won the bachelorette auction.

Sam leaned over and put her hands on the basin of the sink, bracing herself.

Against what exactly she was bracing herself, she wasn't entirely certain.

She'd been to hundreds of planets, gone up against the System Lords, the Replicators...surely she could handle one geeky, self absorbed, chauvinist physicist.

Sure she could. Of course she could. It would be a cinch.

But she didn't _want_ to. She shouldn't _have_ to.

Damn Jack O'Neill. Damn him straight to the ninth circle of the tenth level of hell.

Carter glared up at her reflection. Jack O'Neill was going to curse the day he met her when she was through with him. This was all his fault to begin with. He was going to pay for this if it was the last thing she ever did.

She stared straight ahead for several minutes, visions of fit punishment being inflicted on the good General dancing in her head.

She'd start with itching powder...that was a _classic. _That was something he could appreciate. Timeless and beautiful in it's simplicity. Maybe after the itching powder she would graduate to something more sophisticated, like food poisoning…

Nothing fatal, of course, just something that would make him miserable for a day or two and remind him that she was not a woman to be trifled with under any circumstances.

After that, maybe she'd get _really_ creative and do something with that fishing rod he kept in his office. Toss it into the kawoosh of an incoming wormhole, perhaps?

And if he _still_ didn't get the hint at this point, then there was always-

The doorbell.

Sam's eyes squeezed shut and her face screwed up sourly.

_He_ was here.

With one last look at her reflection and a silent promise to herself to get Jack back for this, she straightened her posture, put on an air of polite indifference and headed for the door.

_It's for a good cause, Carter._ A voice in her head said in a sing-song voice, sounding incredibly smug and very much like a man she was going to be murdering first thing on Monday morning, _Think of the children_.

She didn't appreciate being manipulated, not even by Jack O'Neill. As a result of his conniving, she was going to be forced to go out with a man whom, while she may have had professional respect for him (not that she would ever admit that to anyone out loud and only on rare occasion did she admit it to herself), she had no _personal_ respect for the little toad.

If she had been grinding her teeth any harder her jaw might have snapped off.

The doorbell rang again and she only barely kept herself from barking "I'm coming!" in response.

She was quickly working herself into another fit of anger. That would never do. She had to try and be polite…

At least until McKay gave her a reason to kick his ass.

Which she would. With pleasure.

Sam took a deep breath to steady her nerves, grasped the doorknob and flung wide the door.

There he was, grinning at her over a cartoonishly large bouquet of Black-Eyed-Susans wrapped in moss green tissue paper that was almost as wide as she was.

He looked absolutely tickled pink, like a man who'd won the largest lottery in the country three times over. "Good evening, Samantha."

She took the flowers from him with a forced smile and laid them on the table next to the door where she usually dropped her keys when she came home at night, "Hi, Rodney."

If at all possible, he looked even _more_ pleased than he had a few moments earlier.

McKay took a step foreword, but remained just outside her door, seemingly out of respect. He bent an elbow awkwardly and offered it to her in what he hoped was a gentlemanly fashion, "Shall we...ah...shall we go?"

Sam looked at the flowers for a moment before she turned to look at McKay appraisingly. He was dressed in a suit jacket over a t-shirt (thankfully plain) and pants with a freshly pressed look to them. He hadn't gone all out, but he hadn't worn one of his signature 'You could see it from the moon' shirts, either, for which she was secretly thankful.

His eyes were alight and his smile was sweet.

And he seemed genuinely _thrilled_ to see her.

And not that 'I'm picturing you naked right now' way that he usually did, either.

After half a second's hesitation, Sam reached out her hand and tucked it into the crook of his offered arm.

Well, maybe this wouldn't be _too_ bad.

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A/N: Allow me to relieve your fears, dearest reader. There is very little chance that this will be anything shippy at all if I continue it.

The shirt that's visible from the moon line is cheerfully snatched from NenyaVilyaNenya. I doubt she'll mind.


	3. Chapter 3

I seriously had to fight to keep this from turning into something with a shippy slant to it. The bunnies attacked me last night and tried to convince me that Rodney and Sam could _so_ go together and wouldn't they look oh-so-cute on top of a wedding cake arm in arm?

And I could take them and hold them half an inch away from each other and make little kissy noises like I used to do with my Barbies.

Shut up, you did it too.

Although, you probably paired Barbie with Ken, whereas I paired her with my Joker action figure, which was always awkward 'cause Barbie was about three inches taller and Joker had issues and felt inferior because of the height difference and then I had to send them to couples counseling with my Hong Kong Phooey plushie. They never did reconcile and Joker wound up running off with his secretary Jem (she was truly outrageous, you see), leaving Barbie a depressed and damaged woman who sought to find fulfillment through plastic surgery and a string of younger men.

I was a strange little girl. Anyways...back to the Rodney/Sam issue.

I'm sure I _could_ write something like that (I've actually converted people to ships with my writing before...seriously, ask around in the Atlantis fandom...I'm sorta notorious with Cadman/McKay), but I don't want to right now. Maybe someday.

Now that this totally pointless and mildly amusing author's note is over, foreword, tally ho!

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All throughout dinner, Sam could not get over just how much Rodney McKay had managed to change over the past few years.

Apparently, being forced to work closely with other people towards the goal of survival in the Pegasus galaxy had taught him some small measure of respect and dignity.

Oh, he was still the same arrogant man with an ego three sizes bigger than he was that she'd met several years ago, but something beneath that self absorbed surface had changed.

It was little things she noticed, like the fact he opened doors for her, pulled her chair out for her, hadn't made a serious pass at her throughout the course of the evening (serious being something she could kick his ass for without a moment's hesitation or guilt, like trying to grab her or making a lewd, suggestive or otherwise unsavory remark) _and_ he was bordering on polite instead of his usual attitude: insufferable.

Which, knowing Rodney, was taking every ounce of his energy to maintain. He was seriously trying to be polite and gentlemanly and passing with effort.

It was almost endearing.

_Almost._

He talked a lot, as usual, but instead of it being just about himself and his own numerous impressive scientific accomplishments, he actually spoke in rather warm (for him, at least) terms about his coworkers on Atlantis.

He clearly had great respect for many of them and although Sam knew he'd never admit it, she had a sneaking suspicion that he actually _liked_ some of them as well. Even more than that, it seemed to her that he considered several of them to be more than just coworkers…he considered them to be friends.

Rodney McKay with _friends_ is a strange image, to be sure. Just one item in a growing list of positive changes and alterations to his personality that she had noticed thus far.

Plus, he actually carried on a conversation in the way it was intended to be. As an equal exchange of ideas and philosophies between two people- not as him yammering on and on for half an hour about his impending Nobel prize without taking a breath.

The Pegasus galaxy had changed and smoothed many of the more prickly personality traits of the man she knew as Doctor Rodney McKay, and she couldn't help but feel mildly impressed.

She refused to allow herself to be more impressed than 'mildly'. He was still _McKay_, after all.

One thing, however, that no amount of time in the Pegasus galaxy would ever alter, was his deadly allergy to citrus, as Sam had been unfortunate enough to find out halfway through the main course when he went into anaphylactic shock.

Apparently, their waiter had been so busy staring at (and subsequently drooling over) a redheaded waitress halfway across the restaurant he missed the express instructions of 'No citrus. On ANYTHING!' that Rodney had so kindly intoned six or seven times at the top of his lungs.

As a result, both he and his date were treated to a nice ride in an ambulance to the local emergency room, amidst much scraping, groveling and apologizing from the flustered waiter whose inattentiveness had almost cost McKay his life.

Somehow during the uproar, they had managed to luck out. A woman two tables away was carrying an Epi-Pen in her purse and was able to dose Rodney with the stuff before his throat closed up completely and he died of asphyxiation.

That was about six hours ago.

Sam brought a hand up and ran it through her hair distractedly as she glanced up at the clock hanging opposite her. She figured that it was hung directly across from the visitor's chair in a patient's room just to make sure that everyone in the surrounding area remained on edge about just how long they'd been trapped in the emergency room.

It was probably part of some kind of government double blind study or something stupid like that. She made a mental note to check and see if there was such a thing at a later date as she turned her head to one side and let her neck pop.

The ticking little hands of the evil clock informed her that it was fast approaching one o'clock in the morning.

As though her body was suddenly reminded of just what a long day it had been by glancing at the clock, she yawned widely.

Although Rodney was doing _much_ better than he had been when they had arrived at the Colorado Springs General, none of the ER doctors had bothered to tell them whether or not he would be going home or staying overnight yet.

There was some commotion about a huge six car pile up out on the freeway so Rodney wasn't exactly their greatest priority.

Sam crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

If she was mad at Jack O'Neill before, she was positively _livid_ now.

Well, more tired than livid, but by God, first thing in the morning after she had a pot of coffee in her system she was going to make a point of being massively pissed at him.

While the date itself wasn't too bad (at least, up until the whole 'I think there's lemon in the sauce and I can't breathe' debacle), if it weren't for Jack's interference, poor Rodney wouldn't be stuck in a hospital bed being poked and prodded by every Tom, Dick and Harry in scrubs who wandered through the door.

Wait a minute…did she just refer to him as 'Poor Rodney' in her head? Maybe the super sterile hospital air was doing something funny to her.

Or maybe she was looking at him in a new light because of his model behavior this evening…

She glanced over at him, still tucked safely in his hospital bed, looking _very_ cross with the world at large, arms crossed over his chest as yet another nurse took his blood pressure for what seemed like the fiftieth time tonight.

He was handling this much better than she expected, she mused to herself. He really _had_ changed.

"So help me if you don't get the on call supervising physician in here to discharge me immediately, you're going to have a law suit on your hands! Stop poking me woman!"

And on the other hand, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

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A/N: Gah. This thing has managed to run away with me. I still hereby do solemnly swear to keep it ship-free (although, if you'd like to see an SG-1 ship fic from me, I'm more than open to suggestions for situations and pairings. Always looking for an excuse to write.) even though if you wanted to squint, you could probably see a hint of Rodney/Sam (unintentional, I promise). Anyways, I'm going to keep writing it as long as it keeps coming to me and I keep gettin' reviews. Now then, I'm off to go work on my X-Files/Stargate crossover...if you'll excuse me.

-scurries off-


	4. Chapter 4

If apologizing were an art form, Rodney McKay had just managed to elevate himself to the level of master. All during the cab ride back to the restaurant he apologized at least a hundred times, if not more. Between gripes about the service at the hospital _and_ the restaurant, he repeatedly informed Sam that this was _not_ the way he had planned for things to go.

She only barely kept herself from thanking him for playing Captain Obvious with such dedication to the role.

When the cab arrived back at the Chez Paul, they found an anxious and mildly distraught Matré De who was, if at all possible, even _more_ apologetic that Rodney himself had been. The simpering man had sworn up and down that the waiter who was responsible for the mix-up (or as McKay had taken to calling it on the cab ride back 'The attempt on my life') had been fired and that should Doctor McKay and his lovely dinner companion choose to ever return to the Chez Paul his meal would not only be the finest, but it would also be on the house, complete with wine, desert and whatever else he desired.

McKay, of course, accepted the offer, but not until after much melodrama, threatening of law suits and swearing to do the Matré De personal injury if ever such a thing happened again.

Once the Matré De was finished apologizing, Sam insisted that she be the one to drive McKay home, since after such a harrowing ordeal, he really wasn't in any shape to drive himself.

This, of course, lead to McKay asking just how _she_ was going to get home, to which she replied that she would just take his car and then return it to him tomorrow, since it was really too late to call a cab.

Sam couldn't help but notice the little shine in his eyes when he asked how she planned to get home, as though he would ask her to stay the night on his couch or something.

To his credit, he _didn't_ ask, but she could tell it was taking every bit of self control he had left to keep from propositioning her in such a way.

The sun was just peeping up over the horizon as McKay's car pulled up in front of his apartment building.

"Sam," McKay began in that contrite tone that she'd been hearing nonstop for the past hour or so, "I want to-"

"Rodney, it's late...well, early, actually." She distracted waved a hand in the direction of the windshield at the rapidly rising sun, "I'm tired, you _must_ be exhausted, let's just forget it, alright?"

Sam watched with interest as McKay's eyes flashed angrily for a moment, "I _can't_ forget it. I wanted everything to be perfect tonight and it's turned into one _huge_ mess."

"Rodney..."

"No, look," he turned to stare right at her, "This is the one chance I figured I'd get to show you...well, to show you…well, you know."

She sighed and tightened her grip on the steering wheel in front of her as he continued, "Rodney I-"

"I mean, how many other chances will I ever get to take you out to dinner?"

He looked at her earnestly, "This was the _one_ date I'd ever get with you, Sam."

She opened her mouth but he cut her off before she could formulate any sounds, "And don't try telling me otherwise. You wouldn't be out with me if Jack O'Neill hadn't forced you into participating in the auction, I accept that. I _know_ I'm not your favorite person in the world, and I figured this would be my one chance to try and show you that I'm...I'm different than when you first knew me."

Sam looked at him, astonished. _That's an understatement._

He turned away from her and stared out the windshield, looking at some far off point that only he could see, "I know that there'll never be any...uh...any 'us', per se, but I thought that maybe for tonight we could just be a couple of people out to dinner...you know...friends."

Sam blinked a couple of times and quiet reigned in the small car as she tried to figure out what to say. How could she possibly reply? Everything he had just revealed was so far away from what she expected that there was no reaction that she could possibly give that could express her surprise.

The silence stretched out to an uncomfortable length before Rodney cleared his throat and opened the passenger side door.

"We are," she said quietly as he put one foot out on the pavement.

He pivoted and looked at her, brow furrowed.

"We _are_ friends, Rodney," she said, the corners of her lips turning upwards slightly.

If it were possible for a man to actually light up, Rodney did so just then, a genuine smile spreading across his face that reached his eyes, "Really? You're not just saying that?"

She looked at him severely, "Are you accusing me of lying?"

His face went deathly ashen as he scrambled for an explanation of some sort, "No, no, no, no, I didn't mean-"

Sam laughed, leaned across the car and pecked him on the cheek, "Go to bed, Rodney."

His upper lip curled up into the signature Rodney McKay smirk, "Are you coming with me?"

She pulled back to glare at him. How like him to ruin such a sweet moment with a proposition.

"No? Oh well." He got out of the car and leaned over, one arm on the hood of the car and the other holding the door open, "This was still the best twelve thousand dollars I ever spent."

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A/N:Dammit. How did this turn into borderline romantic angsting from Rodney? HOW? Gah! -stabs plot bunnies with spork- This was _so_ not the direction I wanted to take this thing. I hope it was in character...it's late and I can't be certain at this point if it was or not.

I think I've got one more chapter for this in me. Possibly two. I can either do the next day (when Sam returns Rodney's car to him) or just skip ahead to Monday morning at the SGC and the O'Neill aftermath. -snicker-…I can't decide. What do you guys think?


	5. Chapter 5

Before I go any further, I must do the self pimpage, which I have somehow managed to neglect doing thus far. If you enjoy this story and like Stargate Atlantis, then I would suggest taking a look at my other stories in that universe. Ninety nine percent of them are humor based (some funnier than others) and I'm dreadfully proud of them all. So if you're ever in the mood for a giggle (and my SGA fans can attest to this fact) you'll find it with my other stories.

Alright, mandatory pimpage over. Without further ado: Enjoy the last (Er...uh...I _think_?) chapter of Colonel For Sale.

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Monday morning dawned bright and Sam found herself in a relatively good mood. The weekend had been quite a bit better than she expected. After returning McKay's car to him, he had insisted that they go out to lunch, just to make up for the dismal failure that last night had been.

She had resisted, at first, but after a little prodding, she agreed and they went out together- as _friends_. After all, he did deserve to have at least one decent date with her (even if it wasn't really a 'date') what with all that money he gave up.

However, despite her disposition bordering on being considered cheery as a result of her weekend exploits, she still hadn't forgotten just how angry she was at Jack O'Neill.

Even if she did have an alright time with McKay, that still didn't excuse the under handed tactics which the General employed to get her to participate in one of the more humiliating events in recent memory. Allowing herself to be auctioned off like a piece of property really was degrading on so many more levels than she was comfortable admitting.

So when she arrived on base that morning, she decided that her vendetta against Jack was still on (not that he had ever been _off_ the hook, of course, he just wasn't high up on her list of prioritized thoughts when Rodney was in the hospital and such), and she began trying to come up with a proper form of punishment.

A couple of hours passed as she worked in one of the labs, and she still hadn't the foggiest notion of what to do. The possibilities really were endless.

But it simply _had_ to be something that fit the crime. Something that would make him think twice about trying something like that ever again. A carefully crafted revenge scenario that would dazzle with it's simplicity and measure of poetic justice.

After another hour of working and thinking, she had it pared down to food poisoning or a large dose of ex-lax in his coffee.

Granted, neither of those options was very romantic in their execution, they did lack the finesse of a finely crafted manipulation that would have him begging for her forgiveness, but the thought of Mister High And Mighty General Jack O'Neill having to run out of an all important briefing to make it to the bathroom in time sure did make her smile.

A little too much, to be honest. It was kinda making her cheeks hurt.

She spent much of the morning tapping away at her laptop, grinning like a maniac as she played out different revenge scenarios in her head, each one more satisfying than the last.

Just as she was imagining herself dunking the good General in a vat of hot oil, the man himself decided to make an appearance.

He sauntered into the lab, a coffee cup in one hand, steam rising from it's contents, and a donut skillfully wrapped in a paper towel in the other.

"Good morning, Carter," he said brightly, drawing out the 'o' in the word morning.

"Good morning, sir," Sam replied automatically, still finishing up her last revenge fantasy.

"Whatcha workin' on?" He asked, glancing at the laptop in front of her.

"Well, sir, this is a computer modeled render of the internal configuration of a Zero Point Module and-"

Jack put up one hand to silence the scientist, "Carter, not this early in the morning, please."

"Well, you asked, sir." She pointed out.

"Yes, but I didn't think you'd be up to technobabble this early in the morning."

She rolled her eyes and returned to her work, seriously wondering if she could sneak into the infirmary for that laxative during lunch without anyone noticing. This of course, led to ideas about how to slip the aforementioned drug to her superior while he remained unaware.

For a few minutes the only sounds in the laboratory where the tap, tap, tap of Sam's keyboard and the noisy slurps of her commanding officer from his coffee mug.

Jack finally broke the silence as he bit into his donut, "So Carter, how was your date?"

She turned in her swivel chair to stare at him and had to fight the urge to shove that donut in his hand down his throat at the sight of that damn condescending grin he was giving her.

Never in her life had she known a man who could pour so much charm into a smile that was equal parts sleaze and mischief.

However, she kept her secret desires to ram his chosen breakfast pastry down his throat and instead opted for another plan of attack.

"It was actually...quite nice."

It wasn't a lie. Her 'date' with Rodney on Friday evening had been surprisingly pleasant, up until the lemon being ingested, at least.

Jack tilted his head in that way that just screamed 'quizzical dog', "Oh _really_?"

"Yes, General," Sam smiled at him sweetly, "I have to thank you for organizing the whole thing." Her eyes twinkled dangerously with mischief, "After all, if it weren't for you, I never would have spent the night with Rodney McKay."

Sam came to the conclusion then that the most lovely sound in the world had to be that of a Brigadier General choking on his coffee.

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A/N: Ah...it's nice to finish with a good, solid, funny final line. I actually had the ending somewhat in mind for a while, it was just a matter of getting there, I suppose. I'm proud of myself, I think I've kept everyone in character. I was terrified about writing Jack, but now that I've done it, I'm only mildly worried about OOC-ness.

Yeah...I'm happy with it. For a one shot which I had no plans for continuing and had no real clear idea of where I was going, I think I did alright. And now, since I'm more comfortable in this fandom, I'm going to take fic requests. If you've got a scenario you want to see played out, just lemme know and I'll give it a shot. Bear in mind that chances are it'll be getting my special stamp of humor on it (special, is that what they call it these days?).

Anyways...I'm tired and I still have work to do on half a dozen other stories that are in progress, so I'm off. Thanks for reading the silliness, and I hope you enjoyed it :D


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